


Headspace

by DxTURA



Category: Original Work
Genre: Poetry, haibun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-15
Updated: 2019-08-15
Packaged: 2020-09-03 07:43:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20261626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DxTURA/pseuds/DxTURA
Summary: A set of 3 Haibun published in the 2019 edition of 900 Chicon detailing my frustrations at home.





	1. Blackout

_It’s over. _ The headphones slipped off my ears. Microphone, losing attachment, pops off after floor collision. My head: fuzzy. My throat: dry. Soft, sans serif font now nothing but chalky scribbles. _ Please don’t go. Please don’t leave me. _ My phone lights up: a text, perhaps? I ignore it. The Discord call drops dead. Blackness embraces me - suffocates me, until noon.

Somehow, I made it to work. Grocery, vitamins, candy - all fastidiously stocked while customers rush in. The Regulars. They ask me questions. _ How are you? How is life? I am _ <strike> _ being evicted _ </strike> _ still taking care of my mom. My boyfriend _ <strike> _ broke up with me _ </strike> _ is doing well, thank you. _No one knows. I omit details like I omit my whereabouts. Everything stops. My head held by blackness once more, deactivates until 10 o’clock.

I arrive in Vegas - Fan Festival time. Texts blow up from all my friends, but where do I start? We text, we rendezvous, we miss, we try again. I travel with Mina - Steven made them promise to protect me. A stranger runs to me. _ Are you _ <strike> _ Victor _ </strike> _ Coco’s girlfriend? _ I nod. <strike>Not anymore</strike>. He hugs me tight. He compliments my gaming skills. He wants to take a selfie. I reluctantly say yes and pose. He says he’ll send it to him, and bids me farewell. Loud scribbles flood my head again; Mina leads me back to the main event. Blackness eats my thoughts again. 

Mind and spirit: _ exeunt stage left _.

_ Orange leaves shimmy--_  
_together, in unison,  
_ _yet, I am alone._


	2. Dysfunctional

No food in the house. No homecooked meals. Cockroaches dance on the sink’s cradled dishes. Who _ wants _to cook? I don’t. 5:00am, with an hour commute. I wake up. My mother, reluctantly, wakes too. I say I can Lyft. She insists. Rain knocks on the roof. My brother wakes to go, too.

October 23. Biweekly checks arrive Friday. Stomach growling. I feign unreadability. We stop at a gas station, and my mother hands me a crumpled five. She has not eaten yet. I have not eaten yet. I refuse. I want her to eat. I have my ways. _ Why don’t you ever accept what I give you?! Why don’t you ever defend me?! Your brothers love me more than you do! _Where did this come from? My brother groans and snaps at me, too. Rain never sounded so muffled. Why can’t it race louder? Why can’t I drown in its hollow, yet sweet pitter-patters? Why can’t I drown altogether?

I leave the car. I huddle under my tiny, green umbrella. The coldness of the electrical box soothes me. Insults hurled at me. I don’t belong here. I never belonged here. Defective. Disgrace. I call my boss. _ I’m sorry, something happened. I’ll be late _. The car circles and they yell again. No money for Lyft. No one awake. I reluctantly head to work with them.

Nothing feels right. Nothing feels warm. Someone. Anyone. Save me.

_ Night hides orange trees--  
_ _ I peer out dirty windows,_  
searching for the light.


	3. Rediscovery

My eyes snap open and dart to the clock. 8:00am. I rise from the sinking mattress, but I freeze. I don’t remember my room having butterflies cover the dreary, white walls. That brown, rounded shelf holds various items - yet my degree sits on the top. Cardboard and plastic boxes all in disarray. A chill jolts up my spine; no mother yelling. No Macbook blaring. No dark circles clinging onto my face for dear life.

I hastily unlock my phone with clammy fingers. Cypress. That’s right. I arrived in Cypress. I rode in a U-Haul. I clung to Alphinaud - who panicked mid-transit. I met Sophie, and the two Luis. I ate spicy ramen for cheap. I don’t work until the 13th of January. Did I say good morning to mom? Wait, why does that matter?  _ My brothers love her more than I do, right?  _ Yet, I don’t hear myself crying. My hands do not punch walls or rip at pillow seams. Instead, they lay behind my back. Comfortable. At ease.

I descend the stairs in this two-story house. I peer at every corner, tip-toe every step. Cockroach? No. Cockroach?  _ No _ . Why? How? I guess I can accept this. Fumigation does wonders; I must apologize to Earth later. I sit on the sofa; smells like Tide and fresh-cut flowers. I move to the dining table; they left various foodstuffs. Am I allowed to eat this? Everyone left to work.  _ Go ahead, they won’t get mad _ . For once I drink water without frustrated snarls. For once I eat breakfast; my stomach graciously thanks me before I decide to nap.

In the middle of it all, I finally arrive at a home where I feel welcome and safe.

__ The cold air arrives--  
_ at the center of my bed,   
_ __ I smile in peace


End file.
